Paris, France — For the last several weeks, the emails have been arriving fast and furious urging me to not forget to buy something for Mom.

Take Mom to Brunch!

Buy Mom Some Flowers!

It’s Not Too Late to Celebrate Mom!

Important Story Point:

My mother died 34 years ago.

That’s not stopping Bed Bath & Beyond, Home Depot, or Delta Airlines from hitting me up twice daily, though. These are just three of the hundreds of emails from other companies now occupying my virtual trash bin.

Clearly, the algorithm has not yet been invented to alert these companies to that fact that they are barking up the wrong tree, beating a dead horse, or talking to the hand.

Some days, I am merely annoyed. Other days, I feel slightly bummed knowing that people are out there celebrating their mothers, and I haven’t even heard my mother’s voice in decades.

I feel saddened that I can barely remember the sound of my mother’s voice.

This is where Dead Mother’s Day comes to play. It’s the holiday I created with some dear friends many years ago. We, the adult children of mothers who have passed on, gather on Mother’s Day to participate in the celebration.

For many years, we met at my house in Santa Monica, enjoyed brunch, lots of champagne, and hours of laughter as we shared memories of our Moms, what they taught us, how they continue to influence us, and how much we continue to miss them.

This year, I am in Paris, and on Mother’s Day, I am meeting some friends both old and new to celebrate our wonderful mothers with some very special food and plenty of fine French wine.

Fellowship is a cure-all for old wounds, tightly held grievances, and emotional bruises. Not everyone remembers their mother fondly. Not everyone is blessed with a loving mother. Not everyone wants to celebrate Mother’s Day.

Hence, the annoying emails and how they can disrupt one’s life.

Sante! to my loving mother, Frances Bond, on Mother’s Day.

I love/loved her dearly and am thankful for being her youngest child. She always reminded me to Count My Blessings of which I have many, even on those occasional dark days where sometimes, it feels I have none.

This Mother’s Day, in Paris, I count my many blessings and give thanks for my mother who gave me both Roots and Wings.

N E X T   U P:

Postcards From

An American (Surfer) in Paris.

Wish You Were Here!